Proof of Life
by Cliste the Bartender
Summary: Left shaken after a near death experience, Donatello searches for an anchor to reality. Contains Tcest.


**Author's Notes:**Contains Tcest, okay? bro on bro, don't like, don't read.

Please review :) without critique, I can't improve my writing.

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><p>This was wrong – they were <em>brothers.<em>

This shouldn't have been happening. But even as his mind battled his body, Don knew he needed this.

He reached a hand out to his brother, a chill running through his bones as his heart hollowed and racketed through his veins. The room was so quiet and the pounding in his ears enveloped every corner of space.

The wound on Raphael's cheek was new, cleaned and stitched, and a wretched reminder of a desolate battle just fought. Don eyed it and ran a thumb along its delicate edge. His hand cupped Raph's face, and the heat pierced him as his brother leaned into the touch.

Raphael closed his eyes and let a heavy breath out of his nostrils.

And all was silent.

No one moved. The air shifted only by the steady breathing and the slow pulsating of their chests.

_No, _Don's mind still fought. _It doesn't matter what I feel._ They were brothers. This was supposed to be disgusting, wretched, something only half sane people accepted. It didn't matter that Donnie was helplessly in love – that those feelings were reciprocated – that they drowned in the weightlessness of a near death experience. It didn't matter that Donatello desperately needed this proof of life.

This was wrong. And yet…

Here in the lab – the door locked – not even the soft hymns of the computers broke the porcelain armor of silence around the two…

"...Raph?"

Raph opened his eyes at the sudden shatter of the spell.

Liquid golden, raw and unguarded, caught Don's gaze and wouldn't let go. Those eyes, Raph's eyes, they were always hypnotic, something that shone through everything else; Donnie found himself drawn to them like a moth to flame.

He needed Raphael. He needed something of Raphael, no matter how small, to anchor him to reality. Proof of life.

And it was in that fiery gold that all thoughts against this diminished.

With a pounding in his body and a rush of resolve, Don placed a hand just under Raph's clavicle, the tips of his fingers licked at the bone and spread across the emerald skin.

Proof of life.

Raph didn't say anything, didn't move his arms from his sides; he simply stared into Don, past the charcoal eyes and into his soul, questioning.

Don found his voice caught in his throat and his eyes unable to wander. So he moved his other hand away from the wound. Eyes still locked, he traced across the strong jaw line and down his brother's neck and committed the feel of corded muscles to memory with a delicious rush. Down, past the collar bone and the rough plastron, Don rested his hand against Raphael's heart.

This was wrong.

Raphael's heartbeat was a caged bird. It fluttered quickly and lightly in a melody so at odds with his gruff appearance.

Just this once, he needed this.

With a sigh of resignation, Don tore his eyes away and closed the distance between them, leaning against his brother, his head resting at the crook of Raphael's neck. He breathed in the scent; tinges of sweat and gasoline, and a thick fragrance of his brother's natural musk.

It spread a heat through Don's body like a lethal fever and coaxed him to close his eyes and focus on every other sensation. The rough of the plastron and the skin against skin. How thinned scars bled into the contact in just a way that they fit perfectly.

Proof of life. That was all Don needed. Something after a heady rush of combat, some sort of physicality to anchor him to the earth. That was it…

There wasn't anything else to this.

"Raphael," He found himself whispering in a foreign voice. And just like that, he couldn't speak another word. And so, without a single cognitive thought, he pressed his lips to the flesh and nuzzled against his brother.

And then, suddenly, he was pulled away. A hand caught his chin and forced Don to look Raph in the eye. They were on fire, intoxicating in the sudden passion that lit them up. And just as suddenly, Raphael kissed him.

How many? How many times had Raphel kissed him before this? The number could be counted on one hand, and yet it seemed like too many times. Too many times, this had happened only for the intimacy to end in a heady tear.

How many times had Raph said they should be together – begged, really?

Raph wound his arms around Don and pulled him close; his lip's pressed firmly against him. He held him as if he were the only thing keeping Raph alive.

Don's hands glided against the emerald skin, feather touches that slowly climbed upward, tracing patterns against muscle. He tilted his head, letting Raphael deepen the kiss in rushes of passion.

It was… euphoric. Primal thoughts, simplistic desires dragged to the forefront from a near death experience, they smoudered Don to the marrow of his bones and down to the smallest capillary until all he could tell was how _right _it felt to be in Raphael's arms.

And so they danced to a wicked rhythm. Sliding to the ground, bodies intertwined, writhing in the porcelain shield of silence.

He needed this. And he loved this.

Vulnerable and raw and more naked than he'd ever been, Don knew within this hazy rush that he wasn't losing his mind, that this wasn't the last of this. That this, whatever _this _was, was more than proof of life.

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><p><em>Part of the 10 song OTP challenge ;D <em>_This was *loosely* based off of the song, Breath of Life by Florence and the Machine._


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